


Voyeur

by generalsleepy



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [5]
Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Beating, Choking, Death Threats, Gen, Slurs, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalsleepy/pseuds/generalsleepy
Summary: Someone he took shots of tracks Adam down and makes him pay for doing his job.





	Voyeur

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt "lifted by the neck."

As he walked to his car, Adam tried to mentally put together dinner from what he remembered being in his kitchen.

There was a few pieces of bread left, half a thing of pepperoni, some mustard… maybe some cereal. He guessed he could stop on the way home for milk. With how damn tired he was, though, a mustard and pepperoni sandwich and then passing out in his clothes seemed like the more appealing option. 

With music blaring in his headphones, he didn’t notice the person coming up behind him until something was yanking him back by his collar. 

“Fuck !” 

He was pulled sideways into an alleyway and then, before he could react, his back was slammed against the brick wall.

When the stars cleared from his vision, he stared up at the man pressing him against the wall by his shoulders.

“What the fuck?! Let go of me!” 

“Remember me, you little shit?” He was around six foot, at least twice Adam’s size. balding and red-faced. 

“No! What the fuck do you want?” He struggled desperately. The hold on his shoulders was bone-crushing. He kicked out, but didn’t connect with anything. The man freed a fist to slam into his stomach. Adam doubled over coughing and retching.

“You ruined my fucking life, and you don’t even remember me!”

Alright, so that’s what this was. Angry husband or lover. Now, he thought that he vaguely remembered the ugly bastard. He’d gotten death threats before, and once or twice been actually chased, but no one he’d been paid to take shots of had ever jumped him. His heart pounded. He’d gotten into a handful of fights in his life and all of them had ended—usually begun too—with him getting the shit kicked out of him. He didn’t have high hopes for this time either.

Just as he was starting to get his breath back, the man punched him in the gut again. “My wife got the house, the kids, every fucking cent I make, all because of you!”

“Dude, I just....” He hacked and thought he might have thrown up if he had eaten anything since a donut that morning. “I just took the pictures. If it wasn’t me it would’ve been somebody else who did it.”  _ You’re the one who chose to stick your dick in a hooker, not me, buddy _ .

“Who gave you the fucking right?!”

Adam tried to take advantage of only being held down by one shoulder to pull away. He’d barely moved before the man’s hand was clamped around his throat. He tried to yell, but couldn’t get a single sound out. Suddenly, the man was pulling him off the ground. He kicked wildly and clawed at the wrist that seemed thick as a fucking tree trunk.

“How do you like it now, huh, you punk? Not as easy as just hiding taking pictures, huh?” He shook him, slamming Adam’s head against the wall. “I oughtta fucking kill you!” 

_ Oh, god, oh, god. _ He couldn’t breathe. His head was pounding, and it felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his skull. This guy might actually kill him. He was acting out of his fucking mind. He might just choke Adam out or beat him to death in this alley.

Adam thought about the message on his answering machine from his mom. He thought about all the times he’d promised himself he would call his sister. Other than the two of them, there was no one else who would give a shit if he died. And they’d get over it. He’d been a shitty enough son and brother; maybe they’d be relieved. He wouldn’t blame them.

The man pushed harder, cutting off Adam’s last trickle of breath and slamming his head against the wall. Then, without warning, he let go. Adam crumpled into a pile on the dirty pavement, coughing and gasping. Before he could get his breath back, the man kicked him, foot slamming into his solar plexus hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

Adam instinctively curled into a fetal ball, hands covering the back of his neck.  The man kept kicking him in the legs, back, and stomach. His brain was blank with panic and pain. Struggling even to breathe, all he could do was lie there and hope the blows would stop soon.

_ Please. God, please, just let this be over. I’m sorry, I’m sorry! _

He reached down to haul Adam up by the collar. Adam weakly tried to cover his face, but he was too slow to stop the punch that landed on his cheek. And again. And again. He threw Adam back against the wall and then started kicking him again.

The man kept up a steady stream of shouted threats and insults. Adam made out “son of a bitch!,” “faggot!,” “little piece of shit!,” and “fuck you!” He realized that he was crying and yelping, but couldn’t begin to stop it. He stayed huddled in as tiny of a pile as he could, just waiting and silently begging God or whatever that he wasn’t going to die alone, beaten like a dog in this fucking alley.

It took him a few seconds to realize that the blows had stopped. He didn’t risk looking up or even moving, other than trembling. 

The man laughed, jagged and humorless. “You little pussy. That’ll teach you to fuck with other people’s lives. Try it again and someone’s gonna really fucking put you in the ground.” He hocked up a gob of spit. It landed on the back of Adam’s hand. 

He kicked him one more time in the middle of the back, laughing genuinely at Adam’s high-pitched shout. “Pussy,” he repeated. 

Adam stayed frozen as he listened to the heavy footsteps walking away. It was only when he couldn’t hear anything that he started to uncurl.

He tried to swear, but it wouldn’t make it past his aching throat. The most that he could do was groan, and even that came out as a weak, pathetic sound. Every inch of his body hurt. For a few seconds, he lay there trying to decide whether anything was actually damaged enough he’d need to go to a hospital. He really hoped not, because there was no way he could afford it.

He slowly got up to hands and knees, confirming that at least he could move and nothing seemed to be broken. It still hurt to swallow, and he could feel his eye starting to swell. But, he didn’t need to drag himself to the emergency room. Shit, as long as he was looking on the bright side, he wasn’t dead.

As he moved to heave himself up, fresh pain lanced through his left hand. “Fuck!” he yelped, the syllable scraping his throat. He raised his hand up to see a small shard of glass stuck in his palm.

_ Really? Fucking really? _

He got up to a kneeling position, before gingerly pulling out the piece of glass, thankfully only embedded a few fractions of inches into his skin. “Motherfucker! Shit, shit…!” Blood immediately welled out of the minor wound. Blood was trickling from his split lip and his arms were scraped up. He hoped that he had Neosporin at home. Otherwise it would just be washing it out with soap and water and hoping he didn’t catch about ten diseases. 

It took an immense amount of effort and pain to stand up. His legs trembled and he clung to the wall for support. Once he was standing, he slumped against it, breathing heavily with his eyes shut. He knew that he was crying and wanted to stop, but couldn’t. 

He was a dumb, useless, pathetic piece of shit. Twenty-five years old, and his life was getting beaten up in alleys by cheating husbands, then crawling back to a shithole of an apartment and scrounge whatever scraps he could from an empty fridge. Would it really have fucking mattered if he had died in a puddle of blood in the dirt?

_ Pathetic _ .

Momentarily forgetting the bleeding, he clumsily wiped his hand over his eyes. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t make more of a mess of his face. With each step painful, he stumbled out of the alley. At least his car was nearby. At least it was working for now. At least, with how much his throat fucking hurt, there wasn’t anyone he would have to talk to. 

At least he was alive. He guessed. 


End file.
